


The Death Before Capture Raid

by dracsmith



Category: The Rat Patrol
Genre: Dietrich is B-Negative, Episode reference - The B Negative Raid, Episode reference - The Hickory Dickory Dock Raid, Gen, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 16:23:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20660177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracsmith/pseuds/dracsmith
Summary: Troy and Moffitt are given information whose secrecy is so vital that they must not be captured alive.





	The Death Before Capture Raid

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in HEROES' PLIGHT #4, December 1996.

"Gentlemen," said Colonel Wilson one morning as Troy and Moffitt came into his office. "I have a very important mission for you." His face was serious, and he looked exhausted. Troy noted the cup of cold coffee and the overflowing ashtray at Wilson’s elbow and wondered if he had been up all night working out strategic problems. "Be seated," Wilson said, pulling out a file from a copious stack. His visitors obeyed, watching him expectantly. Wilson lowered his voice. "Sergeant Troy, Sergeant Moffitt, a potentially disastrous breach of security has occurred. As you may know, the Germans intercepted a British convoy yesterday that was crossing the desert from Egypt to western Libya."

"Yes, sir," said Moffitt, "we heard about it. It was loaded with foodstuffs, ammunition and other supplies."

"Officially, yes," said Wilson. "But if also contained a far more important cargo in secret." He looked from Troy to Moffitt and back again, as if gauging their trustworthiness one final time. "We know that the Germans have broken the codes used by the American embassy in Cairo. We have known it for some months. Ever since we found out, we have been using the reports sent to Washington by the American attache to plant false information and lure the enemy into overconfidence. The truck in the convoy marked "Tinned Rations" contained sealed orders to one of our commanders in the field, carefully calculated to take advantage of Jerry’s assumptions based on our false information. If they find, read, and analyze those plans with any acuity, they’ll realize what’s going on and one of our most valuable counter-intelligence tactics will be gone." Wilson rose from the desk and moved to a map on the wall. Picking up a pointer, he gestured. "Here’s where Dietrich’s company intercepted the convoy."

"Dietrich?" Troy interrupted. The resourceful German captain was the most dangerous enemy the Rat Patrol had faced; and they tended to face him often.

"Yes, your old friend," said Wilson with a wry smile. Dietrich was a perpetual thorn in Wilson’s side; while the Rat Patrol generally got the better of him, Dietrich always managed to survive and to persist in harassing the Allies. "That is one of the reasons why Command is so nervous; it was bad luck that this material should fall into such astute hands."

"So you want us to get it back."

"Oh, no," said Wilson. "That kind of operation would arouse too much suspicion. And we don’t need them ourselves--we’ve already drafted and sent out new orders. We just don’t want Jerry to have them. We want you to destroy that convoy." He gestured with the pointer again. "They’re on their way to a Jerry base over here near Mersa Matruh. We believe you can intercept them if you leave immediately and pour on the speed." He put the pointer down and returned to his seat. Putting his hands on the desk and leaning forward he said, "Make it look like an ordinary raid. But make sure you destroy that truck. I want it in smithereens. Smaller."

Troy nodded. "Understood."

"There's one other thing, Sergeant Troy," Wilson added solemnly. "Right now, the information in your heads is absolutely priceless. The Allies can't afford to let the Jerries have it." He breathed a heavy sigh. "You must not allow yourselves to be captured alive." 

Troy and Moffitt met his eyes. "Yes, sir," said Troy immediately. Moffitt nodded without hesitating.

* * *

Dietrich called a halt to his convoy’s proceedings at mid-day to give the men a rest and to give himself a chance to think. Only a few hours separated him and his convoy from the safety of the nearby German base. Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked out over the terrain he would have to cross to reach the base. The hard, barren desert earth stretched away into the distance. It was not perfectly flat; he could see that they would soon be getting into stony, uneven ground with ridges and canyons. If the Allies were to attempt to reacquire their supplies, no doubt an attack would come there.

Dietrich smiled grimly. He was almost certain that somewhere among those rocks and crevices, the Rat Patrol would be waiting for him. His perpetual battle of wits with Troy was about to begin again.

Using his binoculars and checking what he saw against his map, Dietrich ascertained that there was a canyon coming up soon that would be ideal for an ambush. The odds were very high that the Rat Patrol would be waiting for him there. Dietrich eyed the map again. It would be possible to bring part of his force around the canyon rather than through, a time-consuming but possibly rewarding procedure. He could send a couple of the less important trucks they had just captured through the canyon to draw the Rats out; then it would be the Rats who were trapped in the canyon and the bulk of Dietrich’s forces would hold the high ground.

He couldn’t risk losing the precious supplies of gasoline and water that he had intercepted, but there were a couple of vehicles loaded with food and ammunition that he could do without., No doubt his men would be irritated to lose the British rations, a welcome supplement and change from their own. But if Dietrich were wrong, the supplies would not be lost. And if he were right, he would capture the Rat Patrol.

* * *

It was almost too easy, thought Troy as he careened through the canyon toward the convoy. There was the truck he needed to destroy, along with a couple of others. Only two small vehicles were riding shotgun before and behind the trucks. He flung a grenade into the truck marked "Tinned Rations" and another into the truck full of ammunition, for good measure. He could see Moffitt and Tully around at the other end of the line of vehicles, engaging in a brief machine gun battle with the German soldiers before their maneuverability carried them quickly out of range. The contents of the ammunition truck began exploding, sending fireworks up into the hot pale blue sky. The third truck contained more rations; Moffitt blew that one up with a grenade as well. The jeeps made one final sweep around to be sure that all three trucks had been reduced to scraps and ashes, and then headed back up the sides of the canyon, back to the high ground.

They emerged from the canyon--and found themselves surrounded.

Dietrich had flanked them! The main portion of his convoy was waiting for the Rat Patrol up on the ridge. Troy realized that the less important trucks--less important to Dietrich, at least--had been sacrificed to draw the Rat Patrol out. And Dietrich was not undermanned. Three half-tracks pulled around behind his lead vehicle, each loaded with soldiers whose various firearms were all pointed at the Rat Patrol.

Dietrich stepped out of his car and gestured with his sidearm. "Out of your jeeps, gentlemen," he said. Hitch and Tully obeyed, climbing out of the drivers' seats and raising their hands above their heads. Troy and Moffitt exchanged glances. Both were remembering their commander's orders. "The information you have is too valuable; you must not be captured alive."

"Hitch, Tully, hit the dirt!" cried Troy. He and Moffitt leaped simultaneously to their machine guns, intending to take out as many of the enemy as possible before the inevitable end. Dietrich stared at them in astonishment for a moment--could they be bluffing?--but recovered in time to protect his men. He aimed carefully and fired twice.

Hitch and Tully watched in shock as the senior members of the Patrol toppled quietly from the backs of their jeeps. Dietrich issued a flurry of orders and the two privates found themselves hustled to theri feet, disarmed, and led away. Tully turned his head to try and see what was happening with Moffitt and Troy, but a guard barked gruffly in German and poked him with a rifle, and he turned back with a muffled "Ow."

A medic had been dispatched to each of the sergeants. Dietrich finished giving instructions to his lieutenant and strode up the hill to where Troy was sitting at the side of his jeep and glaring at a placid young man who was carefully bandaging his arm.

A shadow fell across Troy and he looked up. Squinting against the bright sun he saw Dietrich standing over him. "A gesture of defiance, Sergeant Troy? A singularly foolish one. You might have been killed." Troy didn't answer. "That doesn't seem to bother you."

Troy shrugged. "You missed, didn't you?"

"Maybe I wasn't aiming to kill," said Dietrich, a note of amusement in his voice. Troy glanced up just in time to see the amused look fade and Dietrich's eyes, looking just beyond the jeep, turn very serious.

The German doctor bent over Moffitt where he lay sprawled on the ground. The bullet in his shoulder had nicked an artery and there was a lot of blood about. He waved for an assistant to come over and the two of them rolled Moffitt onto his back. "Blanket," said the doctor. "He's going into shock." The assistant pulled a blanket from his supplies, covered Moffitt, leaving the shoulder exposed, then helped the doctor to apply pressure and bandage the wound. Moffitt startled them by moving suddenly and moaning, trying to bring his hand up to cover his eyes. "_Die Sonne_. . . ." he whispered.

"Sun's in his eyes," said the doctor. "Cover them, would you?" The assistant pulled the blanket up over Moffitt's face. The Englishman sighed and relaxed. The assistant watched the doctor finish with the bandages. 

"Is he still bleeding?"

The doctor shook his head, his face grave. "Not seriously. Though I fear he has lost a lot of blood."

Dietrich had chosen that moment to look over. He could not hear what the medics were saying, but he saw blood everywhere, the assistant covering Moffitt's face, the doctor shaking his head.

Troy caught his change in mood. "What is it?"

Dietrich squatted down so that his eyes were on a level with Troy's. "I'm sorry, Troy," he said. "I wasn't aiming to kill, but. . . Sergeant Moffitt is dead." He rose again to his feet, watching Troy's reaction.

The American took the news stoically, looking away from Dietrich, then down at the ground with an expression of contained sorrow. But Dietrich thought that before the stoic mask clamped down, he saw an unexpected emotion flicker across Troy's features.

He could have sworn it was relief.

* * *

The German base was quite nearby, and Dietrich transported the remainder of the convoy and his prisoners there. He reported immediately to the base’s commander, a Major Acker, and went to direct the storage of the trucks he had captured while the major arranged the transfer of the prisoners to secure holding cells. The peculiar behavior of the Rat Patrol upon being captured puzzled Dietrich all this while, and when he reported to the major half an hour later he had a hypothesis.

"Sir, I believe there was something in that truck that they did not want us to have," said Dietrich. "My guess is that it was some kind of information. They may have succeeded in destroying the physical evidence, but as long as one of them is alive, their mission to keep the information secret has a chance to fail."

"What makes you think they know anything?" asked the major.

"The Americans in general and the Rat Patrol in particular do not have the military discipline that we have in the Wehrmacht," Dietrich said. "If I called in young Heinrich from the corridor and told him to destroy an Allied installation or die, he would say, ‘_Jawohl, mein Herr_,' and go off and do it. If Troy's superior gave him such an order, without sufficient explanation, I believe the good sergeant's response would be insubordinate in the extreme."

Acker nodded. "I see your point. To persuade Troy and Moffitt to attempt suicide rather than be captured, their commander must have told them something to indicate the importance of their mission." He leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. "Do you think the other two know anything?"

Dietrich considered this question for a moment. "I'm not sure," he said slowly. "They looked genuinely surprised when Troy and Moffitt tried to get themselves killed."

"That could have been an act." 

"Yes, it could," agreed Dietrich. He paced for a moment, rerunning the episode in his mind. The privates' surprised reactions had appeared authentic, but he could not be sure. "Moreover, while normally I would not expect their superiors to give them such information, the manner in which the Rat Patrol was commanded was anything but normal."

"From what I have read of them, I must agree," said Acker. "I have confined both privates in a room that is wired for eavesdropping. I was hoping their conversation would give us a clue."

Dietrich noted the use of the past tense. "You _were_ hoping, sir?"

The major frowned. "My staff assured me that the microphones were undetectible, but the young men have engaged in so little conversation that I fear they are suspicious." He picked up a sheaf of notes from the listening station and waved them at Dietrich. "Why, Pettigrew has said exactly six words since their capture, and one of them was 'ow.'"

Dietrich tried not to laugh. "I assure you, Major, you have just encountered Pettigrew at his most loquacious. I can't remember the last time I heard him say six words in less than an hour." He reflected briefly on the quiet Kentuckian. "Ironic that such a taciturn fellow shares his name with a famous orator."

"Eh?"

"Tully was the name used by the medievals to refer to Marcus Tullius Cicero."

"Hmmph," grunted the major. "At any rate, I think Troy is our most likely source of information."

"I agree, sir. It has, however, proven difficult to extract information from Sergeant Troy in the past."

"Yes, I know," said Acker. "I've read his file. I have sent to the Gestapo for expert interrogators. " He lit a cigarette and continued. "In the meantime, I realize that Troy isn't going to be cooperative. But a man in the throes of any deep emotion is going to be vulnerable. We can use his sorrow and anger against him." He eyed Dietrich thoughtfully. "Really, that was a clever lie. I wish I'd thought of it."

Dietrich was confused. "Lie, sir?"

"You mean you thought the other sergeant was really dead?" The major began to laugh. "They had his face covered because the sun was in his eyes. He's down in the infirmary. Now don't you go telling Troy, Captain! I've heard about your misplaced sense of honor. It's very admirable but it doesn't belong here."

"Yes, sir," said Dietrich reluctantly.

"Now, go see what you can get out of Troy. It would be a very good thing to have a little jump on the Gestapo," said the major with a half-smile.

Dietrich saluted and left.

* * *

Dietrich regarded Troy for some time before he ventured to make conversation. The American lay on his back on the bunk in the holding cell, one arm thrown over his face. Finally Dietrich broke the ice. "I suppose you must have liked him a lot." They both knew who he meant.

"I didn't like him at all," Troy said dully. "Never did." Dietrich looked surprised. Troy continued. "That's the funny thing about being in combat. They throw you together with someone you wouldn't give the time of day to in real life and the next thing you know you're best friends." He sighed, moving his arm off of his face and turning to look at Dietrich. "We fought like cats and dogs for the first few assignments, then something clicked. There's something about being under fire when your very existence depends on being able to trust the man at your side. We had practically nothing in common, but I knew he would have given his life for mine without a second thought."

Dietrich nodded slowly. "I believe I know what you mean, Sergeant," he said. "I have observed the phenomenon. I've also seen its opposite."

"Hm?" 

"In units with especially high turnover, it sometimes happens that the men are deliberately distant. They make an effort _not_ to make friends. Somehow, they say, it makes it hurt just a little less, when the man right next to you is killed, that you never really knew him all that well anyway."

"My God," said Troy. "I don't think I could live like that. It's like shutting off part of being human."

"There is very little about war," said Dietrich, "that allows a man to be human." He paused, reluctant somehow to get down to business when Troy had just shown so much of himself. But the question had to be asked. "Sergeant Troy," he said, "I am puzzled by your behavior, yours and Moffitt's, when you were captured. It's not like either of you to attempt such fatal heroics when the situation is futile."

Troy had spent some time puzzling over just this question. Command had decided against supplying him and Moffitt with suicide pills for precisely this reason: it wasn't the Rat Patrol's style and they didn't want to arouse suspicion. So, Troy had come up with the idea of a last-ditch attack that would be sure to get them killed. Or so he thought. He really didn't have a contingency plan. Dead men don't need contingency plans.

Turning to Dietrich, Troy answered with a question of his own. "Your intelligence tries to keep tabs on us, doesn't it?" Dietrich nodded. Troy continued. "Then you know about Moffitt's brother?"

"No," Dietrich said. "I didn't know he had a brother."

"He _had_," Troy said and waited for the past tense to sink in.

Dietrich absorbed the information quietly. "Was he killed in action?"

"No, dammit," said Troy angrily. "He was a little kid. He was killed in an air raid in London."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Dietrich with genuine regret. One of the luxuries of the North African war was that very few civilians were involved. It was painful to remember that the European theater was not so lucky.

"Moffitt's been unhinged ever since," said Troy. "He jeopardized one of our missions because he just couldn't contain himself, couldn't keep from attacking every Jerry in sight, out of sheer irrational hatred. It's like he blamed all Germans for his brother's death."

"Isn't he a little too intelligent for that?" Dietrich caught his breath, realizing he'd spoken in the present tense, but Troy did not seem to notice the slip.

"You'd think so," said Troy. "But he was always high-strung. Too much brains, too much nerves. Anyway, when I saw him jump up and realized what he was going to do, well, I thought I'd better support him."

Dietrich nodded. "That is a very sensible and plausible explanation," he said. "But I can see at least one problem with it. The two of you jumped to your guns simultaneously. And it was you, Sergeant Troy, who warned your drivers to get down before either of you moved." Troy did not respond. Dietrich regarded him patiently. "Do you have another explanation to offer?"

"Go to hell," Troy said wearily, without rancor.

"I'll be back later," said Dietrich.

* * *

The interview with Troy had unsettled Dietrich. He was itching to know what information the American was concealing; at the same time he felt sympathy for Troy's grief, and some guilt about deceiving him. He decided to go check on Moffitt. The infirmary was a small building; as Dietrich entered he saw that the main ward was empty for once, as the unit had not been in combat for some time. It was obvious which of the private rooms contained the English prisoner, as a guard stood in front of the door.

An alcove off the main ward served as an office, and it was here that Dietrich found the doctor. The doctor was working at his desk and looked up as Dietrich entered.

"How is the prisoner, doctor?" Dietrich asked.

"Not well enough for interrogation," the doctor snapped.

"That was not my intention," Dietrich said coolly. 

The doctor regarded him for a moment and spoke again in a friendlier tone. "He acquired some bruises and contusions when he fell from the jeep, but none serious. He has a bullet wound in the shoulder. The wound itself would not be serious except that it nicked an artery and he has lost a lot of blood. Our blood supply is low and we don't have any of his type, which is unusual--"

"B negative," Dietrich interrupted. "And I can tell you right now that none of his friends has B negative or O negative blood."

The doctor looked startled. "How do you know that?"

"This is not the first time he has suffered such an injury. On a previous occasion his friends forced me at gunpoint to supply a B-negative donor. Fortunately, I was able to turn over to them an American deserter of the right type."

"Fortunately?"

"For one thing, the young man was a headache. He insisted he wasn't a POW because he was a deserter rather than an active soldier,but he refused to join our side. The paperwork alone was a nightmare. Furthermore, there was only one German soldier in camp meeting their requirements and I did not particularly wish to hand _myself_ over."

The doctor jumped. "You're B-negative?"

The captain nodded.

"I know this is most irregular, Captain, but the Major insists I keep this prisoner alive and as well as possible for interrogation. Would you be willing. . . ?"

"To consent to a transfusion? Yes," said Dietrich immediately. He wasn't sure why. He had the strangest feeling that he owed it to Troy.

"Very good," said the doctor. "Please, wait here while I make some preparations."

* * *

The room wouldn't come into focus. Moffitt shut his eyes and tried opening them again. His surroundings--some sort of hospital room--remained stubbornly blurry. It bothered him, but he couldn't seem to think very clearly either. He felt lightheaded and dizzy. And cold. Someone moved into his field of vision, and as if from far away he heard a voice speaking in German. "We've found a donor," said the voice. "I want him prepped for a transfusion."

Transfusion? thought Moffitt. Bits of memory came back to him: the mission, their capture. . . wasn't he supposed to be dead? Yes, he was, and now they were trying to keep him alive. "_Nein_!" he said, trying to sit up. "_Keine Übertragung_!" The dizziness increased and blackness began to intrude on his vision. The doctor pushed him back down easily.

"Rest quietly, young man," the doctor said in German, briskly, but not unkindly. Moffitt managed to bring him into focus. He was in older middle age and had the air of a military man of the old school. Moffitt wondered if the doctor had been in the medical corps in the first World War, and what he thought of the present regime.

Moffitt's thoughts wandered to the upcoming transfusion. There didn't seem to be a whole lot he could do to prevent it. Better just to accept it, he decided, and the strength it would give him; then he would be in a better position either to escape. . . or to find an alternative.

The doctor finished setting up the equipment with the help of an aide, and then left briefly. He returned moments later with another man, whom he directed to a chair next to the bed. As the doctor began attaching the other end of the transfusion apparatus to the new arrival, Moffitt turned his head to see who it was. "Captain Dietrich?"

"The same," said Dietrich, amused by the Englishman's surprise. The doctor finished making the attachments and began the transfusion.

"First you shoot me, then you give me blood. I can't wait to see what's next," Moffitt said. The effort of speaking made him drowsy and he closed his eyes.

Dietrich looked at the pale figure in the bed who lay unresisting as the lifegiving fluid dripped into his arm. "I'm surprised you're taking this so quietly, Sergeant," he said. Moffitt opened his eyes and looked at Dietrich, raising an inquiring eyebrow. "Sergeant Troy informs me that you suffer from an irrational hatred of all Germans. I didn't think you'd be willing to accept this from me."

"But you're not _German_," said Moffitt, as patiently as if explaining to a child. "You're _Dietrich_."

Dietrich was left to mull that one over as the English sergeant fell back asleep.

* * *

Tully and Hitch hadn't spotted the bug, but they inferred its existence from the fact that they'd been locked up together and left to themselves for so long. Tully thought hard for a while and then said to Hitchcock, "Hey, Hitch, d'you think Sarge has told them anything yet?"

"What do you mean?" Hitchcock asked.

"_You_ know," said Tully, shaking his head. "Why he couldn't be taken alive."

Hitch picked up on Tully's gesture. "Nobody tells me _anything_. I thought he just wigged out."

"Man, are you out of it!" exclaimed Tully, laughing. "I overheard the Captain giving their orders when I was trying to get acquainted with that pretty new girl in the office.

"Well, what'd he say?" 

"Aw, I can't tell you that," said Tully. "I mean, I'm not even s'posed to know."

Hitchcock pouted. "Suit yourself."

Tully grinned and gave him a thumbs-up gesture. "So, when do we get to eat around here?" 

The major stopped in where a lieutenant was listening to the eavesdropping device. "Anything?" he said.

The listener shook his head, then suddenly held up his hand. "Wait," he said. The major watched in silence as the lieutenant began scribbling on a notepad. After a few minutes he sat back. "They've stopped again. Sir, one of the two privates--Pettigrew, I think--overheard the secret orders being given to the sergeants. He won't tell the other one what they are."

A slow smile spread over the major's face. "No. But he'll tell _us_."

* * *

Two guards were sent to fetch Tully; unfortunately for both of them, Hitch and Tully were waiting just behind the door and jumped them as they came in. There was a silent, fierce struggle in which the Americans were victorious. They changed quickly into the uniforms of their would-be captors, grabbed their weapons and headed out. When they were in the corridor, Hitch whispered, "Where to now?"

Tully thought for a moment. "I bet at least one of 'em's in the infirmary." 

Hitch nodded. "Let's find out. Look for a sign that says "_Krankenhaus_.""

They walked casually across the compound, trying to emulate the other soldiers they saw: not too sloppy, not too crisp. There was one guard at the entrance to the infirmary; they saluted and he waved them through without speaking. So far, so good.

The little hospital appeared deserted. One of the doors had a guard on it; Hitch walked up to him and saluted. "Excuse me," he said in English. "I'm an American infiltrator and I was just wondering. . . ." The guard slumped forward as Tully, who had come up quietly behind him while Hitch was talking, slugged him. Hitch caught him and, as Tully opened the door, dragged him in.

Once inside the room they stopped. There was one bed in the room, and Moffitt was in it. He was sitting up, leaning forward slightly as a doctor examined a heavy bandage on one shoulder. An aide stood by making notes on a chart. Hitch trained his rifle on both of them. "Hands up!"

The aide put his hands up; the doctor looked around, startled. Moffitt addressed him in German. "My colleague respectfully requests that you put your hands up."

"_Zu befehl_," said the doctor politely and obeyed.

Tully came over to the other side of the bed. "C'mon, Sarge, we're leaving," he said. He spotted Moffitt's uniform in a heap on a nearby chair and held it out to him. "Here, put your clothes on. You don't wanna go running around in a hospital gown."

Moffitt grinned and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The doctor said something in German and Moffitt answered briefly. "What was that?" Tully asked.

"He thinks I'm getting out of bed too soon." The doctor said something else and Moffitt nodded. The doctor came bustling over with a length of fabric. "He wants me to wear a sling so I don't reinjure the shoulder." 

Tully got the remnants of Moffitt's shirt onto him, and the doctor began putting Moffitt's arm into the sling. Hitch turned to him, incredulous. "He was gonna turn you over to the Gestapo for interrogation tomorrow and he's afraid you'll get a boo-boo?"

The doctor picked out the word "Gestapo" and launched into a torrent of German, which lasted long enough for him to finish the sling and for Tully to help Moffitt into the rest of his clothes.

"What'd he say?" asked Hitch when the tirade ended.

Moffitt finished tying his shoes and looked up. "He doesn't like the Gestapo."

"Dandy," said Tully. He walked up to the doctor and pointed his machine gun directly at his rib cage. "Maybe he can help us break Troy out."

The assistant spoke for the first time, nervously, in heavily accented English. "Soon am I to go check on Troy's arm, to be sure he is well enough to face the Gestapo. Maybe I could get you in." He repeated the suggestion in German to the doctor who nodded and gave a brief response. The aide turned back to Hitchcock. "He says it was all your idea and you forced me at gunpoint to cooperate." The doctor smiled as Hitch and Tully laughed.

* * *

Troy glanced up as a key rattled in the lock and the door to his cell opened once again. Dietrich came in, shutting the door carefully behind him, and sat down on one of the hard chairs. Sitting on his bunk with his back against the wall, Troy eyed Dietrich with a kind of dull interest. He wasn't exactly happy to see the German, but even an enemy visitor was a diversion from the gloomy monotony of his own thoughts. Troy noticed that his visitor looked pale and that there was a small bandage inside one elbow. "Been donating blood?" Troy asked.

Dietrich nodded, looking startled and, oddly, a bit guilty. "Very perceptive, Sergeant." There was a period of silence. Finally, Dietrich said, "Why did you try to get yourself killed?"

Troy just glared at him.

"Tomorrow you will hear the same question," Dietrich went on. "But I will not be the one asking. Major Acker has sent for the Gestapo."

"Is that a threat?" Troy asked.

Dietrich was tired of playing word games. "Yes," he said flatly. "You can tell me now, in a relatively civilized situation, or you can tell them tomorrow, under torture." He shrugged. "It's your choice."

Troy leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Tell me something, Captain," he said. "If our positions were reversed, what would you say to me?"

Dietrich smiled ruefully. "Then I see that I'm wasting my time."

Troy watched him for a moment. "You don't like the Gestapo, do you?"

"No," Dietrich admitted. "But sometimes they fulfill a necessary purpose. Whatever it is you know, you're willing to die to keep it secret. That suggests to me that it's very important, that it could bring a German victory, and possibly save German lives." He sighed. "Despite any personal admiration I may have you for you, Sergeant Troy, I cannot pass up an opportunity to save the lives of my men."

Troy nodded. "I can understand that, Captain," he said.

* * *

The medical assistant walked up to the door of the security building with Hitchcock in tow. "I'm here to check on the prisoner's wound," said the assistant to the guard, displaying his medical bag.

"What about him?" the guard asked, indicating Hitchcock.

"He's to help in case the prisoner resists."

The guard nodded and waved them through. As soon as they were past, the aide whirled and jabbed the guard with a palmed hypo full of sedative. Hitch caught the sagging man and dragged him into the building. There was another guard inside the building standing outside the only occupied cell. The medic waved to him. "Would you help us? Your comrade here has collapsed from standing so long in the heat!" The guard came over and bent down helpfully to take the unconscious man's legs. Hitch hit him over the head and down he went. He took the keys from the guard's belt, then dragged both guards into a vacant cell and locked them in. Then he used the keys to open Troy's cell.

* * *

Troy looked up to see Hitchcock, in a German uniform, and the young medic enter the room. Dietrich made as if to rise, but Hitchcock trained a machine gun on him and he stayed put. Hitch spoke to the medic. "OK, go get the others or I'll kill this officer."

The young man gulped and went out. "Now, Captain," said Hitch, "I want you to throw down your weapon and kick it over to Troy." Dietrich did as he was ordered, and Troy scooped up the gun.

"You OK, Sarge?" asked Hitch, still keeping his eyes and his weapon trained on Dietrich.

"Yeah, I'm OK," said Troy, but there was a dispirited sound to his voice that worried Hitch.

The medic returned with the others in tow. Tully was saying, "C'mon, Hitch, we gotta get out of here, they found the two guards we clobbered and they're looking for us. . . ." His voice trailed off as he noticed Troy, who had risen to his feet and was staring as if he'd seen a ghost. Hitch, curious, followed Troy's gaze to the door to see what he saw.

Tully stood patiently in the doorway, a machine gun tucked under one arm, Moffitt leaning on the other. Troy took a hesitant step toward them. "Jack?" he asked in a whisper, his features briefly unguarded. Then the astonishment on his face turned to anger as he swung on Dietrich. "You said he was dead." Troy had a grip on himself now and the words were low and even. "I thought I could trust you. I thought you were a man of your word."

Dietrich had not anticipated his own reaction. The anger in Troy's eyes did not affect him nearly as much as the bitter disappointment in Troy's voice. When had Troy's respect come to be so important to him? "I was mistaken," he said wearily. "I really thought it was true."

Troy considered this for a moment. "Maybe out there, by the jeeps," he finally admitted. "But you must have found out that you were wrong."

"It was the decision of my commanding officer that your interrogation would proceed more effectively were you to remain in the state of depression engendered by your belief that your colleague was dead," Dietrich said in a distant monotone. He understood the justification for the major's order. It was similar to his reasoning for sending for the Gestapo. To lie--or withhold the truth--to save German lives was a trade-off he had been willing to make. But he didn't have to like it.

Troy lunged for him, seizing him by the collar and putting his gun against Dietrich's head. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you now," he said.

Dietrich found he had no immediate answer for that. Another voice answered for him. "Because he saved my life," said Moffitt.

Troy turned, not releasing Dietrich. "What?"

"I had lost a lot of blood and needed a transfusion," the English sergeant explained. "Did you know _he_'s B-negative?"

Troy had to smile at that one, the irony washing away some of his anger. He turned back to Dietrich. "So at the same time you're letting me go on thinking he's dead, your blood is keeping him alive?" Dietrich nodded. Troy released him. "Let's go," he said to his men.

"Tully, you keep a lookout while Hitch, you tie up Dietrich. Then we gotta run."

Tully slipped out into the corridor. Troy, keeping his weapon trained on Dietrich, moved toward the door. "It's. . . um, good to see you," he said to Moffitt.

From Troy, this admission was tantamount to an emotional outburst. Moffitt smiled. "Mutual," he replied.

* * *

A bullet zinged past Troy's left ear as he jumped into his jeep. He reached for the fifty only to find it unloaded. Hitch started the engine without difficulty, but feeling under the seat his hand came up empty and he hollered, "Sarge! They got the grenades!"

Tully made a confirming gesture from his jeep. Troy groaned. The guards would be on them at any minute and the jeeps were defenseless. He thought fast. "Moffitt!" he called. "Over here!" Moffitt obligingly climbed out of Tully's jeep and got into the seat beside Hitch. "Tully!" shouted Troy, jumping down and going over to him. Troy issued a rapid series of orders and Tully nodded. Troy returned to his own jeep, got on the back and leaned forward to Hitch. "When I give the signal, get ready to redline it out of here! And give me that machine gun."

"OK, Sarge!" said Hitch, passing the gun back to Troy and exchanging a puzzled glance with Moffitt.

Tully gunned his engine and made a swift U-turn, aiming the jeep directly at the approaching guards. He wedged an empty canister to hold the accelerator down and leaped out. As soon as Tully rolled clear, Troy aimed the machine gun and fired. The first shot blew out a tire and the jeep spun crazily, taking out several guards who would have been out of its direct path. The second got the gas tank. Tully came panting up to them and Troy pulled him aboard, shouting, "Now, Hitch!" Hitch floored the accelerator, shifting more rapidly than any instruction manual would permit. The jeep leaped forward. Looking backward, Troy could just make out the skeleton of the second jeep through sheets of flame, the guards scattered around it in disarray.

* * *

They drove for a considerable distance, hoping to reach Allied lines or at least get as far as possible from the German camp. Eventually it seemed that they had left all possible pursuit behind. It was growing dark, and Troy began looking for a likely spot to make camp. They stopped just before sundown, pulling off the sandy track they had been following into the shelter of some rocky hills.

Moffitt helped Tully set up camp for the night while Troy and Hitch stowed the jeep. Troy noted with some amusement that the quiet private was very strict about letting his nominal superior carry anything heavy, and that Moffitt submitted meekly to Tully's gentle bullying. Hitch joined Troy and the two of them watched the others for a moment. 

Moffitt looked up from untying a bundle of supplies. "What are you two looking at?" he asked.

"Who, us?" asked Troy innocently.

"Nothin', Doc," said Hitch. "'Cept, I was just thinkin'. . . . I guess there'll always be a little bit of Dietrich close to your heart, huh?"

Moffitt threw a cup at him, then had to smile as Tully and Troy burst into laughter.


End file.
